DCH CH 14
by LinnaceThis Doctor Wants a Kiss
Lu Jingcheng followed Qingyi and once again climbed into that Shark Pepper car. The evening breeze in June carried a hint of warmth as it brushed against his face.
Lu Jingcheng yawned. After a full meal, he was genuinely drowsy. He had just performed a major surgery in the afternoon, followed by a consultation with a panel of experts regarding Xue Wang. His energy was completely drained.
Qingyi drove in silence, not saying a word since leaving the hotpot restaurant, simply moving forward.
Lu Jingcheng couldn’t shake off the words Qingyi had uttered when they stepped out of the restaurant:
The game between adults has long since begun.
Resting his head against the passenger seat, Lu Jingcheng watched the scenery flash by outside the window.
As sleepiness crept in, he closed his eyes—this game had reached a point where the first major turning point was inevitable.
It wasn’t that Lu Jingcheng wanted to slack off. But he was a medical student who had followed a rigid academic path since childhood, and after starting work, his mind had been entirely occupied by professional exams and patients.
In Lu Jingcheng’s mind, Qingyi was nothing like him.
Captain Qingyi had grown up immersed in the entertainment industry, a dazzling world of fame and fortune where the real game was the human psyche. Later, he entered the esports scene—a volatile arena where professional players’ skills were often evenly matched. More often than not, victory came down to strategy, to playing with people’s minds.
With just these two points in mind, Lu Jingcheng knew he was no match for Qingyi. He was better at solving problems—when the enemy attacks, we defend; when floods come, we build dams.
As for the current situation and what would happen next, Lu Jingcheng was fully aware. He didn’t consider himself a sore loser. If Qingyi had his little courtship game, then he might as well play along and take the chance to relax.
He’d experience this so-called dating game for once.
Qingyi appeared to be focused on driving, but in reality, his gaze kept flickering toward Lu Jingcheng.
Deputy Director Lu had initially just stared expressionlessly out the window, but now he’d closed his eyes, seemingly resting.
Qingyi watched him, his mind full of question marks. Sure, he’d grown up surrounded by people in the entertainment industry and had seen plenty of romantic tactics, but his actual experience was zero. In simpler terms, he was all talk—a theoretical expert with no practical skills.
So… was it time for the next step?
The next step he was thinking of?
Did this even count as successfully pursuing someone?
Qingyi hesitated over whether to ask, but for some reason, it felt embarrassing. After agonizing over it, he decided to drop the topic.
Whatever. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
Perhaps because neither had spoken for a while, the atmosphere in the car grew stifling. Qingyi glanced out the window as they passed a building with a digital billboard advertising an upcoming movie. Grasping for conversation, he said, “The lead actor is signed under my dad’s company.”
Lu Jingcheng lifted his eyes briefly, glancing at the screen before replying coolly, “A friend of yours?”
“Yeah, we’ve known each other for years,” Qingyi said, suppressing the nervous flutter in his chest and forcing a casual tone. “There weren’t many kids around my age at the company back then. I remember he debuted in his teens. We both got busier over time, so we don’t talk as much now. He won Best Actor last year.”
He extended an olive branch: “So… wanna go to the premiere together?”
Lu Jingcheng let out a soft mm, his tone indifferent, but at least he didn’t refuse.
This guy… Qingyi pressed his lips together.
“I heard his next movie—” Qingyi tried to keep the conversation going, but as he turned to look at Lu Jingcheng, his words died in his throat.
Because…
The normally expressionless Lu Jingcheng had a faint but unmistakable smile tugging at his lips.
“Hey, you’re smiling?” Qingyi blurted out before he could stop himself.
The moment the words left his mouth, Lu Jingcheng’s face went blank again.
His dark lashes lowered, then lifted, those striking peach-blossom eyes blinking slowly—each flutter like a brush against Qingyi’s nerves. “No, I wasn’t.”
Tch. Tsundere.
Qingyi turned his head away, forcing himself not to look at those mesmerizing eyes. Otherwise, he might cause a traffic accident.
The car stopped at a red light right beneath the building. The young award-winning actor on the billboard stared down at Qingyi with a bright smile, triggering a memory.
At last year’s company New Year’s party—more like a small-scale awards ceremony—IF Team had just been eliminated in the quarterfinals, leaving Qingyi in a foul mood. He’d gone to his father’s annual gala to distract himself.
That same actor, after a few glasses of wine, had grabbed Qingyi’s arm and drunkenly ranted about his unrequited feelings for another man.
“It’s like hunger, like thirst—completely instinctual. I can’t control it.”
“I crave him every second, but he’s so cold, like he doesn’t feel anything at all.”
“I can’t even f*cking describe it. Am I just a lovesick idi*t? It’s like some invisible force keeps pulling me toward him.”
“Me—Gu Qingyan, the youngest Best Actor at the Lily Awards. I can play piano onstage and pull out an erhu performance if needed. What right does he have to look down on me?!”
Qingyi had tried to calm him down, whispering, “Dude, there are cameras everywhere. And an erhu doesn’t count as a martial skill—it’s still arts.”
“THAT’S NOT THE F*CKING POINT!”
Now, six months later, Qingyi couldn’t recall how he’d comforted his friend, but he remembered spouting all kinds of clichés.
Easy to talk big when it’s not happening to you.
His gaze drifted back to Lu Jingcheng, and suddenly, he understood exactly what his friend had meant.
Love was an instinct—an empty heart instinctively seeking another.
Qingyi smoothly parked in the team’s garage and led Lu Jingcheng up to the dormitory building.
At this hour, the second-string players were still in the training room reviewing matches, while the main team—having performed well in yesterday’s tournament—had the day off.
A quick check of the group chat confirmed it: the four of them had gone from the hotpot place straight to karaoke to grind their streaming hours.
Meaning… the dormitory was empty.
The night was deep and quiet as Qingyi guided Lu Jingcheng down the hallway.
“Don’t pro players train late? I heard they practice until dawn, putting in over ten hours a day.”
“Yep. Dull and exhausting,” Qingyi said, fishing for his keys. “The competition’s fierce, and the pressure’s insane.”
“Then why do you have so much free time?”
“Just stealing a break these days.” He pushed the door open, gesturing for Lu Jingcheng to enter. “I’ve got practice matches tomorrow, a tournament next week, and the fall season starts next month.”
“Wanna come to the opening ceremony?” Qingyi asked casually as he closed the door behind them.
“You can just decide who gets tickets?” Lu Jingcheng raised an eyebrow. “Those are supposed to be impossible to get.”
“Perks of being captain.” Qingyi smirked. “I’ll save you a front-row seat.”
Lu Jingcheng didn’t respond. He’d been to concerts before, but front-row seats? Never.
One, he wouldn’t spend the money. Two, he didn’t have the connections.
So this is what having a sugar daddy feels like, he mused wryly.
What does that make me? Lu Sugar Baby?
The captain’s room was a spacious suite. Lu Jingcheng wandered inside, hands behind his back. “Nice digs. Your org treats its players well. Do all team captains get this?”
Qingyi busied himself making tea. “Nah. My dad invested in the club. Management ‘bent the rules’ for me. Everyone else shares doubles.”
He handed Lu Jingcheng a cup. “Though, to avoid resentment, they deduct ‘rent’ from my salary. It’s an open secret here.”
“But as a rich second-gen, shouldn’t you just buy the place?” Lu Jingcheng teased. “Isn’t that how it works in dramas?”
“Purchase restrictions. Can’t buy.”
Lu Jingcheng hadn’t expected such a mundane reason. “Wow. My bad. You rich people really know how to live.”
Qingyi pushed open the bedroom door. “Besides, the club leases the land. What’s the point of buying one room?”
Lu Jingcheng raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, yes. Young Master Huo is wise and all-knowing.”
“Damn right.”
The bedroom wasn’t small, but there was barely any free space—because it was filled with Cai Wenji.
Figures, models, plushies, pillows, even a half-finished giant puzzle on the floor. Using his connections, Qingyi had commissioned custom puzzles from his father’s merchandising team—fan art of Lan and Cai Wenji, key match moments, chibi couple art from fans.
On the bed sat an oversized Cai Wenji plush, its big, watery eyes and flushed cheeks unbearably cute.
Lu Jingcheng stepped inside, momentarily speechless. “You…”
Then he laughed softly. “You’re really into this, huh?”
“Huh?” Qingyi turned, confused.
Lu Jingcheng strode to the desk, picking up a Cai Wenji figure—the one with that haughty, domineering expression.
Leaning back against the desk, long legs stretched out, he turned the figure’s face toward Qingyi. Tipping his chin up, his eyes held a challenge, his expression mirroring the figure’s perfectly.
“Look alike?” he murmured, voice lazy. “Her and me.”
Delight flashed across Qingyi’s face. His Dr. Lu was here, in his room, saying things like this. He stepped closer.
Lu Jingcheng deliberately turned his head, breath brushing Qingyi’s ear. “What? Too shy to say it to my face?”
“Or do you really think I don’t know what this little obsession of yours means—” He cut himself off, catching the flicker of something unreadable in Qingyi’s eyes.
When their gazes met again, the air between them thickened with something electric.
The curtains fluttered as Qingyi lifted a hand, his palm warm against Lu Jingcheng’s cheek.
Lu Jingcheng played along, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the touch.
A silent yes.
Qingyi felt his usually steady hands trembling slightly.
Lu Jingcheng had been nuzzling against him for a while now, yet Qingyi still hadn’t made a move. Eyes still closed, Lu Jingcheng couldn’t see anything—and it was starting to annoy him. Does this guy get distracted during games too?
Qingyi, of course, had no idea what Lu Jingcheng was thinking. His mind was entirely occupied by one vivid fantasy: imagining how this refined, composed man might unravel if pushed to the edge.
What would he look like—out of control?
Then, without warning, Lu Jingcheng’s voice brushed against Qingyi’s ear, low and deliberate:
“You wanna kiss me?”